


A Whole New World

by Fierystorm22



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierystorm22/pseuds/Fierystorm22





	1. Prologue

(Prologue)

Two years ago.

  
A lot had changed over the months we'd been holed inside. The people inside changed. Our land changed. Our houses, our families, everything. Everything had changed.  
And not every change was good. Like James' new stance on not killing anyone ever again. That seemed like a good thing, really, but in reality, this new world? People were going to die. And more would die if you weren't willing to end things when you had the chance.  
But most changes, most of them were good. Like the garden that had flourished this year, inside the greenhouse. All the fruit and vegetable seeds we'd found during our foraging, they'd sprouted beautifully in the greenhouse. Each potted plant had to be cared for a little differently, but they were all beautifully growing.  
And more people had been found, live and well, so more houses had been built. That was good, too. Most of our people were good soldiers. Some of them had other jobs. Some of them had other jobs along with being soldiers. About a hundred of us were just straight soldiers, but the rest of us had other responsibilities, too.  
Some people were just straight civilians, but those people were few.  
We had plenty of people, that was true. We had plenty of food, plenty of weapons. We even had an armory responsible for making more weapons. I'd been working on this community since I turned eighteen, so it was already well underway by the time the apocalypse began and the dead began to rise. The houses were small, but that left plenty of room for more of them, and for playing room for children. We made sure every yard had tiny playgrounds, a slide, merry-go-round, swingset, and playhouse. All handmade.  
My community, even before the dead rose, was a paradise.  
Once the dead rose, it became even more of a paradise. Our walls became our biggest asset, and we began to build them up even more. Those walls now would never be broken through. We built our underground shelters bigger, stronger. And our greenhouse grew. Now, the greenhouse was so big, you could get lost in it. The problem with that, though: water. We frequently ran out of water.  
We went on weekly runs for water, built thirteen water towers, and filled them weekly, made sure we kept them as full as possible. With as many people as we had in this community, those water towers ran empty several times.  
The cost of building a community with several hundreds of people in the middle of the desert.  
When we went out for water, we often went scavenging for other things, things we couldn't make, or people. People were always needed.  
“Sera,” I heard James say softly, “what are you doing out here? It's the middle of the night.”  
I turned toward him, giving him a quick smile. He wore a pair of red plaid boxers, and nothing else. His dark brown, almost black hair was unkempt from sleep, and his eyes were still dark with sleep. His boxers had dipped low enough I could see the dark, thin line of hair that started right under his naval. I glanced back out over the balcony, out over the community I'd begun building at eighteen, and looked toward him. “I was just thinking how amazing this place really is. I mean, even before the dead began to outnumber the living, I managed to build a good community, with very little help. I had you, I had Sabrina, I had Jesse, and I had Cam. Sabrina and Cam are gone now. I wish they'd been able to see what this place would become.”  
“It's okay, they had faith in you, in this place.” He came toward me, arms held out. “It's cold out here. Why don't you come inside?”  
I turned back toward the balcony railing. “I'm not cold. It's the desert.” He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around me, leaning against me. “James, go to bed, I'll be fine.”  
“I can't sleep without you,” he whined. “Come to bed.”  
I sighed. “160 acres, plus the forty more we're adding. Is that enough? It'll take months, maybe years, to finish that wall around that last forty acres.”  
“Maybe, but we've already put a year and a half of work into it. It's over half finished.”  
I nodded. “At least we have been lucky in finding materials. Jesse should be back in a few days with another load of wood and metals. I hope he's found some good materials.”  
“Jesse knows what he's doing.”  
“We've been building that wall for about a year and a half.” I thought about it. “Maybe longer. At least since the dead began to rise.”  
He sighed. “You've been working on it since I turned eighteen, and have been living here since you turned eighteen. That's a long time, Sera. We've put a lot of work into this. We're going to keep expanding. We need the military room.”  
I nodded. “I know. I know.” I smiled, leaning against James. “Ten years of working on this. How far it's come. It doesn't seem that long, does it?”  
I felt him shake his head. “No, it really doesn't.” A laugh shook his chest. “We went from having maybe twenty people to well over six, maybe seven hundred, in ten years.”  
“We wouldn't have that many people if not for the dead.” The moment we knew about that, we went to Vegas, to Henderson, to all the outlying towns, hundreds of miles out, and collected people. We sent out evacuation messages on television and radio, and people showed up here. Our numbers grew pretty quickly, and our original numbers taught the newbies how things worked around here. I sighed again. “Alright. It's getting late, James. I should get ready for our run.”  
His arms tightened around me. “Not yet. Come back to bed. One more hour.”  
I laughed. “Okay. One more hour. Then I have to go.”

The sun was rising, and it was getting hot. I avoided turning on the AC in favor of saving gas. That was also why we always left before the sun came up. Hours before. The less we used the AC, the less gas we used. And since we always went miles upon miles upon miles to get anywhere, we always conserved gas.  
The windows were rolled all the way down, and that felt pretty good. But AC would've felt better.  
“So where do you want to go this time?” Rose was asking me.  
I glanced up from the book I was currently enjoying. “No, no road map this time. We've been to most of the neighboring states, and a lot of those places are pretty picked dry. Vegas is out—they're there in overwhelming numbers. So how about we go east. We've plundered the west coast. Let's go east, see what we can find. Drive for a day, or maybe even two.”  
“Alright. I'll drive for a day and a half. We'll stop at whatever town we get to after that.” Rose grinned, and I knew she'd take my joking comment serious.  
“Rose, I was kidding. I didn't mean-!”  
“Too late. We're doing it. A day and a half. We'll stop for bathroom breaks, and that's it.”  
“A day of being stuck in this car?” Andy didn't seem at all thrilled about the idea.  
“We'll have to stop for leg breaks. Our legs will break if we don't.” Brandon also seemed less than happy about it.  
“It is way too cramped back here to not take some breaks.”  
“Matt, we'll take breaks. We can't keep going straight without some.”  
“Pft,” Rose scoffed. “You wanna bet? I can keep going all damn day and night!”  
“You got her riled up,” Matt groaned. “You know what happens when you do that.”  
Rose, all of 5'4, short black hair, tattoos on both arms, bright blue eyes, slender build—she was all dare and scare. She was always hardcore badass, and I really wished I'd known her before the dead came back to life. I would've loved to see what kind of job she had. She never talked about her pre-apocalypse life. She floored the gas pedal, and the small car lurched forward. “You know my favorite thing about the world ending?”  
“No cops?” I guessed.  
“No fuckin' cops!” she agreed.  
I couldn't help it, I laughed. Rose may have been kind of batshit crazy, but I love her for it.  
“Are James, Jesse, Cari, and Alex behind us still? Or is Rose's crazy driving-oop, no, they're back there. Why are they pulling along-?”  
“Drag race!”

“Why are there cars in the road?” Rose's voice awakened me from my slumber.  
There was the sudden popping sound of gunfire, and Rose swerved sideways—something hit us from behind. Hard. I felt myself being thrown forward, but I got caught between two sets of strong arms as Andy and Brandon both grabbed me and held on tight as the car veered out of control.  
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Why are they shooting at us!? Dammit!” Rose was cursing up a storm in front, and Matt was screaming in panic.  
“Get your guns out!” I yelled, pulling mine from my hip holster. “Rose, stop the car! Get it stopped!”  
“I'm trying, dammit! I'm trying!” I could hear the brakes screeching, and, twisting around in my seat, could see James' car behind us crashing into a tree on the side of the road. Smoke rose up from the front of the car.  
We hit something, hard, on Rose and Andy's side. I jerked to the side, and Brandon grabbed onto me. Andy's head hit his window, cracking the window, and I was seriously worried about the state of his skull. Rose also jerked to the side, but narrowly missed hitting her own window—only because her window was rolled all the way down. She was definitely going to have whiplash.  
“Andy? Andy, you okay?” Matt had already thrown his seat belt off, was already starting to climb out of the car. “Andy, answer me!”  
I turned toward Andy, pushing Brandon away from me. “Andy, hey, talk to me.” I reached over, touching his neck. The pulse was thready, but there. He was breathing. Alive. But unconscious. “Brandon, get out. Andy's alive. He's unconscious, but he's alive. Get out, guns ready.”  
The door was yanked open before we could move, and a man glared in at us. “Step out of the vehicle with your hands up!”

  
It was cold. Dark. There were whimpers from all around. Nobody had spoken since I'd been thrown in this damp, dank cellar room.  
Our weapons, clothes, and everything had been taken from us. Our hands handcuffed in front of us, ankles cuffed together. They'd separated the men from the women, and everyone had been sent into what I could only think of as cellar cells. Dark, dank concrete walls, floors. Puddles of what I hoped were water were everywhere. There was a single toilet, and a hole that had been drilled in the ceiling that had a hose shoved through it that served as a shower. There was a bucket filled with soaps tied to the ceiling that would be lowered moments before the hose would be turned on. Then a name would be called out, and whoever that was would step up, shower, and be pulled out after the hose shut off.  
When they came back, they were bruised, bleeding, and crying. I wasn't sure what happened to them when they were pulled out, but it wasn't hard to guess what happened.  
The door opened, and the woman who'd been taken about two hours ago was shoved back in. I took the moment of light to study her. She was petite, pale, with long, dark black hair, and red, full lips. She reminded me of a real life Snow White. She was bruised, lips bleeding, what looked like a black eye starting, and her hair was matted. She seemed to barely be able to stay on her feet, and crumpled the moment she was thrown into the room.  
“Edain!” I heard someone gasp. Before the door shut, I saw movement, another woman rushing toward her. “Edain, Ed, are you okay?” In the very dim light, I could see a woman with short, strawberry-blond hair. It was too dark to see her eye color. She was helping the other woman to her feet. “Eddie, it's okay, hun. It's okay. Come on.”  
Edain seemed too much for the other woman to support, and I stood, made my way over, and grabbed her other side. “I've got her.”  
She gave me a grateful look. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you very much.”  
I helped her pull Edain toward where I'd been sitting in the corner, and we lowered her to the ground. “How long have you two been in here?”  
“A week, maybe more. I'm not even sure anymore.”  
Edain looked up at me. “Your friend, the one with tattoos? She won't be back any time soon. They're breaking her.”  
The other woman fell silent for a moment. “She fought back. Fighting back makes them angry, and they hurt you until you don't fight anymore.”  
I looked down. “They'll kill Rose, because she'll never stop fighting.”

  
Time passed. I was never sure how much. Rose had finally returned, and she hadn't spoken since. Edain and Monica had told me how they'd ended up here. Much like we had, they'd been ambushed by several cars firing at them. Unlike us, they hadn't been driving. They'd been walking along, with six other people. Three of them died before they'd been taken hostage. Two of them they still haven't seen.  
Rose and I had become favorites of a particularly vulgar man. He seemed to prefer, what he called, “fighters.”  
Food had become a sort of bargaining tool for our captors. The more we were called, the more we were fed. Rose, Edain, Monica, and I were probably fed the least. At first, Monica and Edain were more willing to go, for food. Rose and I, having grown attached to the two, decided to split half our food with them, so that they would not be so willing to go. And after we'd started to do so, they, too, had started to split food with us whenever they'd be forced to go. Whatever we had, we shared with each other. And that, I believe, was the only reason we were still alive, while several of the other women had disappeared, or died.  
The door opened. “So this is where you keep your . . .resources,” a voice I did not recognize said. A deep, rough voice.  
Looking up, a man with dark hair and dark eyes stood in the doorway, looking in at us as most of the women cowered away.  
“They're in pitiful condition. Barely able to stand, looks like. How long has it been since any of them have seen the sun?” He walked into the room. “How many are there?”  
“At last count, twenty-three.”  
“Twenty-three. Hm.” He walked further into the room. “I'm going to give you a choice. Every single one of you has known torture and hunger and darkness however long you've been in here. How many of you wish to be free? Serve me, do as I say, and you can be freed. Live in comfort, or live in pain. Which would you choose?”  
Several of the women looked at each other, afraid to answer, afraid this was a test.  
“Or would you rather stay here and rot? Last chance.”  
“I'll go,” Rose said, standing. “I'll join you.”  
“Good, you've made the right choice. Anyone else?”  
I stood. “Where she goes, I go.”  
“Me too,” Monica and Edain said nearly instantly.  
“A-and my daughter. Where is she?” Edain asked, desperation in her voice.  
The taller, dark-haired man looked down at the other one. “That woman has a daughter? Where is she?”  
“She's with the other little girls.”  
A look of rage flared across his face. “I want the children, too. Male, female, all of them.”  
“That wasn't the deal.”  
“That's because you didn't tell me you took children hostage, too.” He looked back at us. “Everyone get up. You're all coming with me.”  
“That wasn't the deal, either. You were supposed to take half of them.”  
He gave the shorter man a dark look. “The deal has changed. I want all of the prisoners. Right now.” His eyes fell to me. He looked me up and down, nodded, and, with a smile, asked, “And what's your name, darlin'?”  
Not hesitating for half a second, I told him, “Emma. My name is Emma.”

  
I heard running footsteps, something, or someone, skidding, and then, “Em, Em, ya there? We need to talk!” The door to my room opened, and Rose and Monica stood there, terrified looks on their face. “We need to talk. Right now. Negan, h-he's not who he pretends to be.”  
I walked to them quickly, looked down both hallways, and ushered them inside.  
“We were doing what you asked, looking for a way out,” Rose told me. “Me, James, and Jesse, we checked every door. And we-Jesse-he found something. Well, actually, someone.” She looked terrified. I'd never seen Rose look terrified.  
“To be honest, I really thought you were crazy for trying to get away. This place seemed like a paradise. I mean, he saved us, all of us, from that place, from those men. I thought we found a place to belong, someone to protect us. But then, what Jesse found. . . .” She sank onto my bed, hands over her face. “He sent us a note, and we went to check up on it.” A sound much like a sob came from her.  
Rose went to her, kneeling beside her to rub her back, looking up at me. “Here's the note.” She held a piece of paper toward me.  
I walked closer, grabbing it. Written in Jesse's messy handwriting, it was almost hard to read.  
“Was looking for way out. While looking for way out, found a door that was locked. Thought it was suspicious, so kept my eye on it. Yesterday saw three armed men go in, close the door, lock it, and heard grunts and other sounds from inside. When they left, I followed them, pickpocketed the key, and went back to room. Big dude inside, beaten nearly to death. Talked to him, told me about this place. Need to get out. It isn't what it seems in here. Talk to him yourself. Drew a map for you on back of note.”  
I read it twice. “So there's a guy-?”  
“We talked to him, Em. His name's Zach. He joined Negan a few months ago. He told me he joined because his team brought him here. They thought being part of his group would be safer than being on the road. Basically, they thought what we thought. That it was safe, a good place. But he told us horrible things about this place. He said he was given an order he wouldn't obey, and he's been in there since then, because he won't kneel. They told him to punish someone who tried to escape. I guess he was told to beat them to death. When he refused, Negan beat them to death in front of him.  
“He told me he used that baseball bat he carries around to beat their head in. He says he's watched him torture people, kill people. He ended up saving us not because he's a savior, but because he was there to take stuff from that group, or kill them. Zach was there. He watched Negan's people torture those people, and he didn't think much of it, because they were bad people. He helped them, helped them torture, helped them take their stuff, and told us they were then left to themselves, though Negan told them that they would be doing weekly checks and any prisoners they found would be taken. And if they hid their prisoners, they would kill them.  
“He thought, after that, that Negan was a good guy. After all, he didn't allow rape to go unpunished, and every guy in there that participated in taking prisoners, he tortured to death. So he thought, this guy isn't so bad. Then, he started hearing rumors, and someone couldn't take it, and ran. Zach said he didn't think anything of it, until Negan gave orders that they had to be tracked down. Negan's rules, earning what you take? Apparently there's a lot more to it than we know. Zach stood up to Negan, he refused to kneel, and Negan's been torturing him since, trying to get him to kneel, asking him who he is, telling him the only right answer for that is 'Negan.'  
“Negan is torturing people, good people, taking stuff from them. Forcing them to become his slaves, threatening people, torturing them. Zach, he told us, he told us everything. This place, it's not what it seems. It's like a second hell. We gotta get out of here.”

  
Closer, just a little closer. I inched toward the door, the one behind which Zach waited. I'd told them I would go check it out, check him out. Just a few more feet. Almost there--  
A hand snaked around my mouth, an arm yanked me to the side, and I fell to the ground, someone hitting the ground behind me. I elbowed back, hit someone's solar plexus, heard a grunt. The arm around me loosened, and I tried to roll away—whoever it was grabbed my hair, pulling me back, and rolled so that he was atop me. He, definitely he. I could tell by the weight, by the hand and the arm. My face was pressed to the floor, and he was heavy enough, I found it hard to breathe.  
“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he said, voice rough, a little breathy. “I've been waiting for you to be on your own. I've watched you since you got here. It's about time you came out of hiding.”  
I knew that tone. I knew it well. His voice was hoarse, a little breathy.  
“Get off me,” I growled.  
He pressed me further into the floor, grinding his hips up against mine. “I don't think so. You came from that place. You know the deal, you know what to do.” He reached around me, slipping his hand between my body and the floor to grab my breast, squeezing hard. “You know what I want.”  
I rammed my elbow back into his abdomen again, bucking against him, and reached up to claw at his wrist, making him let go.  
He grabbed my hair again, lifted my head, and slammed my face back into the floor. Once, twice—the world became fuzzy. I fell limp. Blackness overcame me at the third hit. The next thing I was aware of, my pants had been torn, and I could feel him pressed up against my entrance, pushing hard. It hurt, and I struggled again. “S-stop! Get off!”  
“I'm trying to get off!” He shoved his hips up against me hard, re-positioning the head of himself against me. “Oh, fuck, why are you so hard to get into!? Dammit! After all that time you spent there, you'd think you'd be looser than a fucking-!” I heard a fleshy sound, then another, and he sagged above me, falling limp, suddenly so much heavier than before. Another fleshy thunk. A moment passed, then he was lifted off me, thrown to the side. “  
“Now what the hell did I just break up?”  
I knew that voice.  
Quickly rolling over and covering myself with my hands, I found myself staring up at Negan, whose eyes were fixed darkly on the now-dead rapist. “I just want to apologize profusely for that unfortunate incident. That is absolutely not how we do things here.” He reached toward me--  
I slapped his arm away, screaming, backing away. My head hurt. I could barely see past the blood. I was nauseous, I was dizzy. And every part of me wanted to run. “Don't fucking touch me!” I heard myself yell. My voice sounded distorted. Tinny.  
He backed away, arms held up. “Hey, hey, darlin'. I ain't gonna hurt ya. Lucille here and I just saved you.” He knelt, and I could see through the thick haze his eyes narrowing as he took me in. “You gotta hell of a head wound there. We should get you to the doctor.” He inched closer.  
I inched away. “Stay away from me,” I heard myself gasping. “St-stay over there. I mean it!” I looked around wildly, trying to find something I could use as a weapon. The dead man, he had a knife strapped to his side. I grabbed it, waving it in front of me. “I mean it, stay over there. I'll kill you.”  
He held his hands up still, but stood, backing away. “Look, darlin', I'm not gonna hurt ya. I promise. I just want to get you medical attention. I'm just trying to help ya. Just drop the knife.”  
Everything was getting more blurry. I tried to blink it away, tried to get my vision back. “I can't see,” I heard myself say. Once again, my voice sounded far away.  
“Put the knife down, and I'll get you some medical attention.” His voice sounded closer. I looked up, blinking, trying to see. He was suddenly looming above me. I swung out with the knife, but he caught my wrist, twisted it just enough to make me drop the knife. He caught it, threw it.  
I tried to yank my arm away, pushed at him with my other hand. “Let go! Let go of me!”  
“Damn, you actually cut me!” His voice became a blurry, distant thing. “I'm not going to hurt you.”  
I looked up at him then, and the black specks that ate at my vision seemed to be all I could see. “I can't see anything,” I whispered, right before everything went black.

  
Silence. Everything was silent. James, Jesse, and Rose had found their way into the infirmary earlier today, and we'd discussed what we were planning to do. James was going to take Rose and Monica on a run, sanctioned by Negan. Jesse was going to take Edain on a mission, and Zach, who Monica had given the tools to escape his torture, would smuggle Connie out—even though I was a little unsure about how we could trust some guy's word for not hurting the four year old girl.  
A couple weeks had passed since I'd been attacked. I'd seen some of what Zach had said. The forced kneeling, the point system where we had to earn points for eating, or anything we could get, and the punishments. Stealing, people would get their hands cut off. People would be beaten for disobeying the rules. And some people, with their last strike, would be locked away in a room like Zach was. Most of them were let out after a day or two. Zach, so far, was the only one who stayed for an extended period of time.  
I don't suppose we had much of a choice but to trust Zach. The children were all kept in a different area, and people had to earn points to spend time with their children, and the children themselves had to work for points.  
The dude was clearly nuts.  
From what I knew, Edain and Monica were currently looking for the rest of their group they'd originally come with. They hadn't been able to find any of them, and James was looking for Andy and Brandon, though there had been no sign of them anywhere. Andy had hit his head fairly hard when we'd crashed. I wasn't even sure he survived that crash.  
So no luck, though I would've been glad to see them again, and I'm sure Monica and Edain would be happy to see their people again. Once we were out of here, I'd tell them the truth. That this place, it wasn't the only place they could go to get out from the world around us. As soon as we were outside, I would tell them they were welcome in my kingdom. In the Valley. I would get them to come with me, because I believed they would be a good addition to the Valley.  
A part of me also just really liked them.  
As soon as we were out.

  
I stood outside the door to Negan's room, shifting my weight, unsure of how things would go once I went inside. With a deep breath, I raised my fist, and knocked loud.  
A moment passed. “Come in.”  
I opened the door, walked inside. The room had a nice bed, a kitchenette, including fridge, a living room set, and a dining room table with chairs. Very cushy. He was sitting in the big easy chair, looked up when I came in.  
Surprise colored his face, widening his eyes. “Well, well, well. How are you doin', darlin'?”  
I hesitated at the door. “I got out of the infirmary today, and I was told what happened. I was told I cut you. I don't remember doing it, but I believe it must've happened.”  
“Oh, yea, you got me good. But don't you worry, I ain't gonna take it out on you. You were in a bad place, with one hell of a head wound.” He took a sip of the drink in his hand. “Now what did you want?”  
“I wanted to see if, um . . . if there was a way I could make that up to you. Something-something I could do.”  
He shook his head. “No, no, darlin'. See, I don't hold you accountable for what happened. No, that's all on Richard, and he's already paid that price. You ain't got nothin' to make up for.”  
He seemed so reasonable, so kind, but I could see behind that veneer. “Be that as it may, I still feel bad for what happened. I mean, you saved me, twice, and how do I repay you? By scarring you. I feel I need to do something to ease my own conscience, to-to make it up to you.”  
He leant forward, looking me up and down. “See, usually I would have you marry me to pay off your debts,” I suppressed a shudder, “but seeing as how that would be awful rude of me, given your circumstances, I am open to suggestions.”  
I shifted my weight, let out the breath I held. “Thank you for your generosity. Not that marriage would be so bad, but . . . I'm not sure I'd be up for what comes with that right now.” He nodded understandingly. “But, where I came from, I was—am--a really good scavenger. I know the best places to look, and I can take nearly an army of the dead ones by myself. So if you would allow me to construct a team and go out, or allow me to do so on my own, I guarantee I would find you something really good to make up for what I owe you.”  
He studied me for a moment. “And who would you like to have on your team?”  
“I would leave the final consideration up to you. From what I've seen, James and Jesse seem to be good at scavenging, and I would suggest them, but I believe they're out on their own missions, as I haven't seen them around. If Rose is around, we talked a lot during our time together, and I like her attitude. Maybe Tina, she seems pretty interesting.”  
Again, he studied me in silence for a few minutes. “Would you be comfortable, working with a man? After all you've been through?”  
I then did the hardest thing I think I'd ever done. I bowed, and lied, “With your prior actions, saving me twice, I believe you've made your point. I believe, under your protection, I am safe.”  
“This is true. I strung up Richard in the courtyard, let him turn, and used him as an example. He's still there, showing all of them the actions his actions inspired. Yes, under my protection, you are safe. For that reason, I shall pick your team myself. Meet me downstairs in an hour, and I will tell you my choices.”

  
I was forced to my knees, two people on each side, one person behind me, and several dozens, maybe a couple hundred, behind that person, watching all this unfold.  
Negan stood a few feet in front of me, and I had to blink back blood and hair to see him. He stared down at me with a mixture of surprise, amusement, and anger. “What has she done to be brought to me today?”  
“She tried to escape, Negan. She attacked and killed three men on her own. It took all of us to take her down. She was hellbent on escaping. And I heard tell of more escapes. People she knows. She knows where they've gone.”  
He paced back and forth a bit. “Do you know where they went?”  
I stared at the ground, determined not to say a thing.  
“That just makes me think you do. Now, don't get me wrong. I sorta get why you want to leave. After what you went through here, I see it. But you have to know you ain't safe outside either. Those bastards that took you the first time likely will still take you back. Just because we told'em not to doesn't mean they're gonna listen. And who knows, you could end up with someone even worse. And even so, even if I do understand it, I can't let you get away with killing my people and attempting to escape. You see, there are rules. Without rules, we have anarchy. Without rules, we have disobedience. We can't have that. So, as much as I'd like to let you off easy, I'm afraid I just can't-!”  
“Negan!” someone screamed. “Negan! He's loose! That fucker, he's fuckin' loose! He's loose!” A roundish, stout man sprinted around the corner, behind Negan, and skidded to a stop, panting, doubled over.  
Negan turned around to look at him. “Who's loose, Mark? Who. Is. Loose?”  
He looked up. “Zach. Zach's loose. And he's on a fuckin' killing spree.”  
“How many are dead?” He didn't answer right away, still gasping for breath, and Negan lunged forward, grabbing him by his collar. “How many are dead, Mark?”  
“I don't know for sure. He's had to have been loose since yesterday's lessons. There are several of our people in his room, all wasted. When we opened it just now, they attacked. There are still some running loose, we were outnumbered, and we had to run. I counted to seventeen before we were forced to retreat.”  
“He's killed at least seventeen of our people, and we're just now finding out?! Are you shitting me!? We can't let that fucker loose—we need him. He's probably the most dangerous fucker in this place. Find him, bring him back. Right now!” He turned back to me. “Looks like you get a reprieve. A short beating, and then, then we'll have to focus on finding Zach.” He smiled then, walked toward me, and knelt. “And then, I think we'll leave you in his room for him to find. You might think I'm bad, but Zach? Zach's far worse than I am.”


	2. Present

Present.

I stared ahead, eyes narrowed. “James, is Jesse back from his run yet?”  
James looked up from his book. We were sitting out on the balcony, he in his favorite lounge chair, me in the hanging chair as I stared over the railing. It was a bright, sunny, hot day—as it usually was in the desert. “I've no idea. Why?”  
“I was hoping he found some people,”  
His bright, electric blue eyes softened. “It's been years, and you're still hoping he finds them, aren't you?”  
I looked away at that. “It's not about them.”  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him give me a look.  
“Okay, it's not just about them. It's about helping people. I don't want people to end up where we did. It's a hell of a surprise we all made it back in one piece. Andy, Alex, and Brandon died. More of us could've died.”  
“We don't know for sure they died.”  
“Maybe, and maybe we can find them one day. But we won't know that until Jesse gets back.”  
“He'll be back any day now. Just be patient, Sera. I know, that's something you struggle with.” He was smiling at me, amused. “It hasn't even been a week. What do you think can be done in a week?”  
“I've gotten crap done in a week,” I defended.  
“Yea, because you rush. Jesse takes his time. And because of that, he gets more done, gets more stuff. You always rush back, and while that is admirable, and necessary, seeing as how you are the Queen of this land, Jesse is no such thing. He is no leader, no King, no Queen. He's just Jesse. A knight.”  
“Speaking of the knights, how is the training gong?” I decided to change the subject. “We had several new people come into age, sign up for training. How's it going?”  
“Fairly well. The new recruits, they're catching on pretty quick. Good thing you set up that underage training camp. It's helped to make people stronger, faster, get them ready for the full-on training. It was a good idea.”  
My cell phone beeped. I pulled it from my pocket, glancing down at it. Jesse had texted me a thumb up, which meant he was back. “Oh, look! Jesse's team is back after all.”  
James stood slowly. “Well, damn. Boy's making a liar out of me today!”  
My phone went off again, and I read the text. “N2T.” That meant “need to talk.”  
“And apparently, he's got news.” I moved toward the railing, looking out. I could see the gate from here, and I could also see the gate closing. “He's on his way.” The horses waiting by the gates were always ready to be saddled and taken to the palace at any moment. And I could now see several horses carrying riders coming this way. “Twenty minutes, at most. Let's meet him downstairs.”  
Sighing, James dropped his book down on the lounger, made his way toward the double glass-and-gilt doors, and paused, looking back at me with a grin. “You comin', or not?”  
Ten minutes later, we were waiting in the parlor for him, sitting in the nice, comfortable, white chairs. The parlor was big, with big, white, plushy chairs situated all around, big, long white, plushy couches, with a few bookcases around the room, and a long, white marble table, with comfortable, white marble chairs. The parlor floor was white marble, and the walls were pale blue, shiny, reflective. This, this palace, it took years to finish. It was, luckily, finished before the world died, but just barely.  
The double doors to the parlor from the entrance hall opened, and Jesse ran in, a little breathless, but grinning. “They're alive. I saw them.” My heart stopped, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. “Monica, Edain, the kid, Zach. They're alive. The kid's grown, though.”  
“Where did you see them?” James asked hoarsely.  
“They're in a community, with some new people. Monica's pregnant, and married. Alec, and Xavier, they're new. Monica married Alec. They look great together. Happy.”  
“How did you run into them?” I found myself asking.  
“We actually ran into each other when they were on a run. Edain and some guy named Morgan. They recognized me, and brought us back to their community. They tried convincing me to stay, and. . . .” He glanced up at me, looked away. “Rose told them the truth. They told their leader. Their leader requested to meet with you. I told him I would tell you, but you would likely not want him coming back with us. I told him you would prefer to come to him.”  
“He allowed this?”  
“He didn't want to, not at first, but Alec, Zach, and the others accounted for my credibility. They want to meet with you.” He looked down, away. “There's a lot going on that you don't know about. A lot we don't know about. Negan,” he looked up at me then, “he's still out there, causing havoc worse than ever.”  
“How bad?”  
“He's expanding his holdings, a lot. He wants everything everyone has. And according to their leader, Rick, his group has grown to at least a couple hundred. Probably more.”  
I hesitated. “In that case, I think it's time to make some changes. Right, James?”  
He nodded. “We were talking about the training. I think we should lower the age requirement to five. I've seen some of the older kids teaching the younger, and they pick up on it just fine. Just make a less stringent training program, introduce weapons at five, and self-defense at three. What do you think?”  
I thought about it for a minute. “I agree, but it should be voluntary on the parents' part. They can choose to sign the kids up, or not.”  
“I don't agree with that. A lot of parents will not want to do that, and their kids will suffer for it. I think we should teach the kids, best we can, with or without permission from the parents.”  
“A lot of people will be angry.”  
“Maybe, but a lot of people could be saved from it. A lot of kids. Kids are resilient, they're strong, smart, fast, more so than we give them credit for. Besides, these people will do what you say. They respect you, and love you, and you keep them fed, safe, entertained, and educated. The people that don't agree with you, they'll catch on pretty quick. They'll understand the need for it, and if you explain it and tell them, they'll accept it. They respect you. They'll listen to you. Lower the weaponry to five, and the self-defense to three. Make sure all the kids are safe, from here on out.”  
I nodded. “And what about the age requirement for runs? Keep it the same?” But I was already thinking. “No, wait. Weapons training currently begins at thirteen. We'll lower the runs age requirement to fifteen, where they can sign up—with parental permission, and only one underage to a squad, to be supervised. Have each fifteen year old taken on one mandatory run per semester. At sixteen, bump that to three. At seventeen, five.  
“We'll start giving out jobs at thirteen, instead of fifteen. Let them take internships. Get used to the way things run here. Parents might not be happy, but we need to bump things up, with more people coming in. Just in case. We'll have them take three weeks a semester out of their training, starting at thirteen, for their internships. Let them figure out what kind of assignment they want before they're assigned one.”  
“They might not be too happy with it at first, but they'll get behind us pretty quick. They respect you, and they'll fall in line, because it'll be pretty obvious pretty quick to them. They respect you. They love you. You've given them a world they can be civilized, free, and safe. You've given them a world they can be fully themselves in and not worry about a damn thing. They'll understand that upping the security of this place is for the best. Tell them what we know, and what we've seen, of the Saviors. That's what we need to do. They'll fall in line after that just fine.”  
I looked over at Jesse, then James. “What do you think? Time to fight?”  
“I didn't ask Rick what he needed. I looked at their armory, at their pantry. Sera, they have nothing. No food, no guns, nothing. What can we offer?” Jesse was looking at me pleadingly. “The Saviors, they're horrible people, but more than just that. Monica, Connie, Edain, Zach—they helped save our lives. Zach saved your life with those undead he hid in his cell. He may not have done it knowing it would save your life, but we owe your life, and because of that, the life of the Valley, to them. We can't let them starve, or go out in a fight. We have to help them.”  
I studied him a moment. “Our pantries are more than full,” I said slowly, “our armory more than plentiful. Our food, weapons, gas, everything we have, we have in full. Pack up some goodies, not just necessaries, but accessories. Music, movies, televisions if they don't have any. And phones. As many of them as we have right now. James, go into the military posts, find some volunteers to go—temporarily—to this new community. At least twenty. Thirty, if you can swing it. As many as you can. Jesse, round up some of our musicians, we'll give these people a show. I'll have Rose get some weapons together, and I'll get food. Jesse, you'll come with me, and tell me more about Rick, and what you think they could use, and their community.”

 

In the end, I didn't end up bringing more than one trailer filled with food and medicine that was pulled along behind the SUV I rode in. 

Once upon a time, I'd been very naive about how this new world worked. I wasn't anymore. My first reaction upon hearing about this new community that now housed old friends may have been naive, but after thinking about it, I realized it was wiser to meet this Rick, see his community for myself, before deciding to take his side in this war.

And though I was hopeful that these people were good people, I was no fool, not anymore. So following behind our SUV were four RVs filled with highly trained soldiers armed with weapons and phones. 

"Jesse," I turned toward the man sitting beside me in the driver's seat, "are you sure you are going the right way?"

He nodded. "Yes. Morgan gave me directions. Told me where to go. Any mile now, we should meet up with--oh, there. See? Right there." He pointed.

I looked up, seeing a big white van waiting at the side of the road. Jesse stopped the SUV, and I sent a quick text to James, who was riding in the soldiers' RV. "Stop, we're here."

He replied with a thumbs up emoji. 

I waited an extra second before a man got out of the van. Tall, dark brown hair, slightly bearded, muscular. A dark-skinned woman with black hair styled in dreadlocks followed him.

Jesse turned off the SUV, and I got out. He followed.

I met the pair halfway, and the man gave us both a quick once-over before saying to Jesse, "Thank you for coming. Monica and Edain have told us a lot about you. Edain told me you guys wanted to discuss a deal."

Jesse smiled, then gestured toward me. "She's the one you've got to talk to that about. She's the queen."

He turned to me then, ducked his head a little. "I'm Rick, this is Michonne. You must be Sarah."

"Sera, actually. It's nice to meet you." I studied him a moment. "I brought a sort of peace-offering, just to show you a little bit of what we have to offer. If you'd follow me?" He nodded, and I turned. 

Jesse followed after Rick, with Michonne behind him. 

I led them to the trailer, opening it up. Fresh vegetables, fruits, and meats were kept in huge coolers so you couldn't really see them, but the canned foods, jars of fresh jellies, bags of potatoes, and boxes of cereals were easily made out. I was even nice enough to put chocolate in the coolers. 

Other than that, there were boxes of antibiotics, pain-killers, vitamins, and other medications. Jesse, the weirdo he was, had even thrown in two huge plants of medicinal marijuana. From his own huge stash.

Rick stood a moment, then glanced at me as if in permission, and I moved side, nodding. He went inside, checked the coolers, then stood still a moment.

"This is a little of what you have to offer?" Michonne asked.

I nodded. "We have a huge greenhouse, huge farmland, and a hospital that was built before all this began so it is fully stocked. I was going to bring a trailer of food by itself, a trailer of medications, and a trailer of weapons. That is what I have to offer, for the right price. Nothing comes free anymore."

Rick turned toward me. "What do you want in exchange? We don't have anything like this to offer." 

I smiled. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement. First, before we do, I'd like to meet your people and get a feel for what, and who, you all are. As I'm sure you know, there are horrible people out here. I just want to make sure my group would not be endangered by yours. I hope you understand."


End file.
